


The Beginning of the End (of the World as We Know It)

by KHansen



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Experimentation, F/F, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, M/M, Multiverse Hopping, On the Run, Original Monster - Freeform, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Stregobitch is a Bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26107171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen
Summary: When Ciri is kidnapped by Stregobor for his own nefarious purposes, Geralt and Jaskier must rescue her. However, they come face-to-face with their most difficult monster yet: a creature of Stregobor's own devise, able to cross universes the same as Cirilla, that wants Ciri, Geralt, and Jaskier dead.The introduction to Into the Jaskierverse.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Cerys an Craite, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 15
Kudos: 284





	The Beginning of the End (of the World as We Know It)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 1 of Into the Jaskierverse! We've all worked very hard on this collaboration and hope you will enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

With their hearts pounding against their ribs, they slip and slide over sandy dunes beneath a sickly orange sky crowded with flashing clouds, lightning snapping and crackling and electrifying the air they breath. The sea roars to their right, the swells dark and menacing and the waves crashing with the echoes of crumbling empires in the white foam that sticks to the shore. To their left, an enormous cliff towers over them, sand raining down from it onto them with each shuddering boom of the earth beneath their feet. A horrific, screeching roar rushes over them, filling the world with its howl, the force of the shattered atmosphere knocking them forward and sending them sprawling in the sand.

Geralt hauls himself and Ciri to their feet, gripping her arm tightly and taking off again at a sprint. Lightning shoots out of the sky, zipping towards them and hitting the ground with a percussive explosion, tumbling them down the far side of the dune. Geralt’s ears are ringing but as he struggles upright again, a terrified scream cuts through the drone and his heart stops.

“ _ JASKIER !” _

* * *

It started when Ciri disappeared on a hunt. 

Everything had been going smoothly, it was a contract for drowners which is one she’s taken at least a dozen times by now and as such she had no hesitation in taking another. The town she walked into, no longer with a name, was bleak and barren, the shutters on buildings closed and barred to any passersby, the doors locked up tight. Any flowers that had been growing here were long wilted, the stalks shriveled and the petals brown in death. The stench of decay was settled over the town, and Ciri frowned as she walked along the main road, the cobblestone crunching under her boots with the dirt grinding beneath her heel.

A tall tower loomed over the squat houses at the edge of town, and Ciri could feel the stink of chaos all over it. It was twisted and rotten and made her skin crawl the closer she got to it, but it was necessary as the contract requested the drowner heads be brought to the wizard living there. She shuddered as she stopped at the base of the tower, lifting her chin to look up at the cracked and crumbling stones, the grout turning to dust with the passage of time. Dried brambles that used to be vines crawl up the sides of the tower, the magic inside sucking up all of the life that touches it. 

Ciri took a deep breath, glancing down at the three drowner heads dangling from her gloved fingers, before raising her hand and knocking on the rotting wood of the door. It flaked away beneath her fist before the door creaked open on its own, the scent of ozone spiking with the flare of magic in the air. She frowned and kept her feet firmly planted on the outside of the threshold as she leaned in to cautiously peer around the door.

“Hello?” She called out, squinting into the darkness, “I’ve completed your contract! And I’d like my coin!”

Silence answered her and she huffed, glancing up the outside of the tower again. Yennefer always told her not to enter strange, magical places, but gods-dammit whoever lived here had her money and she doesn’t like to get stiffed on her payment. The magic flared again and her frown deepened as she leaned back to look around the grounds. The plants surrounding the tower were just as dead as the ones clawing at it, the grass turned a horrific brown and the trees grayed with age.

She heard a sigh and turned back to the tower, spotting an elderly man inside, and her scowl softened as he shuffled to the door. His back was bowed from his years and his hair a stark, frizzing white while his clothing hung from his bony frame as though he hadn’t eaten a good meal in decades. Regardless of the way he leaned heavily on a long staff, topped with a crystal knob, his gray eyes glittered with something that made Ciri uncomfortable as the hair on the back of her neck prickled under his scrutiny.

“Apologies, dear girl,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly smooth despite coming from the pipes of a sorcerer older than even Yennefer, “these stairs aren’t as easy on the old bones as they used to be.”

Ciri nodded her head respectfully, “It’s not a problem. I apologize for being rude, I wasn’t expecting ah…”

“An old windbag like myself?” He smiled and his teeth were very straight and white.

She blushed lightly with embarrassment, “No! No, just ah… I was under the impression that the ascension grants sorcerers eternal life.”

“Eternal life, not eternal youth,” he chided her gently before stepping back away from the door, “Please, come in. You can have a cuppa and tell me about the hunt before I get your payment in order.”

She pressed her lips together into a thin line as she thought about his offer. Something about him wasn’t right, but she couldn’t figure out just what. Sighing, she nodded and dropped the drowner heads on the ground beside the door and scraped her boots on the threshold as she stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a creak of its hinges and a firm thump. She couldn’t help but equate it’s finality to the tolling of death bells.

“Right this way, my dear girl,” the old man led her deeper into the tower, the interior much larger than the exterior. She’s seen this kind of magic before, of course, whenever Yennefer would travel with them and set up her enchanted tent. But here, the spell felt... foreboding.

“I really think I should just collect my coin and go,” Ciri said carefully, picking her way around dying plants in the courtyard that shouldn’t exist as they pass through it. Whatever spells were keeping the greenery alive were fading and cracking under the pressure of twisted and tainted chaos.

The old man scoffed, “Nonsense. You’re my guest now, Cirilla, and I am not a poor host.”

Ciri froze mid-step, her balance wavering until she planted her boot down harder than she intended and the heel thumps on the packed earth. She never told him her name. Not when she accepted the contract two towns over, not when she arrived with the drowner heads, and certainly not in the past two minutes in his company.

“Is everything all right?” He turned to look at her, concerned, his brow wrinkling. But now she could see the falseness in it, the wavering of the illusion magic woven around his body, the sharpness of his gray eyes and how they held nothing but cruel curiosity as he looked at her. This man was not what he appeared to be, and Ciri needed to leave immediately.

She cleared her throat delicately, schooling her expression into one of mild interest as she glanced around the courtyard for viable exits, “Ah, yes. Yeah, sorry, I was just admiring your garden.”

His eyes narrowed for just a second before an easy smile cracked his dry lips and wrinkled his sagging cheeks, “You’re very kind. There’s no need to compliment the dying, they won’t be amongst us much longer.” He hobbled back over to her, leaning heavily on his staff. The crystal knob on the end of it glittered and gleamed in the weak sunlight filtering into the magicked courtyard. “Indeed, I’m not much for a green thumb these days. My magic wanes, and with it, my home.”

Ciri hummed with a vague nod as she took a single step back towards the door, “I’m truly sorry to hear that. If there was anything I could do to help I would, but I really must be-”

“Oh, but there is something you can do!” The old man grinned and Ciri took another step back before her back was suddenly pressed up against something invisible. Her eyes widened and she looked around, searching for what was stopping her from escaping, when she spied a sigil carved into the ground, half hidden beneath dry leaves.

She looked up again and tried to conjure a portal to escape, reaching out to the high volume of chaos in the air around her, but it didn’t react to her calls. It receded each time she pulled on it, only sparking along her fingertips but not breaking her body apart to reassemble elsewhere. As she attempted to portal, an excruciating pain shot through her, bringing her to her knees with a cry.

“Who are you? What are you doing to me?”

The old man smiled, a slow curving of his brittle lips, and the illusion that clung to his skin slipped away like water off the back of a duck. The sorcerer stood taller, with a straight spine and proud shoulders, his gray hair short and neatly arranged into a style that commanded respect and exuded dignity. The only unkempt thing about him was his bushy eyebrows, even his ragged clothing turning to luxurious robes.

“My name is Master Irion, and I am  _ very _ interested in your magic, Princess Cirilla.”

* * *

“Jaskier!” Geralt sprints back up the side of the dune that he and Ciri rolled down, his boots slipping in the loose sand to the point where he’s almost crawling. Another scream rips through the air, freezing Geralt’s blood with fear as he pushes himself faster. “Jaskier, hang on!”

“ _ Geralt!” _ Jaskier hollers, struggling beneath one of the heavy legs of the creature as it pins him to the ground. The beast towers over them, with long spindly legs that branch into three thin fingers and an arching body covered in mottled gray skin. Taller than the highest spires of Oxenfurt Academy, the monster unhinges its jaw and roars, the cacophonous sound making Geralt’s ringing ears bleed.

Jaskier cries out and fights to not let go of the leg that’s slowly crushing him into the sand so that he can cover his own sensitive ears. His hands slip and the creature screams in triumph as one razor sharp finger pierces through Jaskier’s trouser and into his thigh. He yells in pain and Geralt scrambles back to his feet, unsheathing his sword as he dives forward to swipe at the monster’s leg. 

The edge of his blade barely cuts into the thick skin, but it’s enough to make black ichor bubble up and capture the attention of the beast. It swivels its elongated head, perched atop a rail thin, curving neck, and sets pure white eyes on Geralt. The beast opens its gaping maw again, revealing rows and rows of teeth and a long, black, leathery tongue that slithers over its jaw and drips black saliva onto Jaskier below it. Jaskier screams as the acidic spit burns his skin, making it bubble and turn red wherever it touches.

It shrieks again, and Geralt drops to his knees, hunching over and clapping his hands over his ears as the ululation rings with magic and brings forth terrible, horrible visions. Ciri, dead on the ground with her ribs ripped wide open and blood staining her skin. Eskel, writhing from potion toxicity with veins as dark as pitch and voids where his eyes should be. Yennefer, being torn apart by her magic as fire shreds her skin and boils it from her bones. Vesemir, struck down by the faceless humans that slew so many of their brothers all those years before. Lambert, his head impaled upon a spike and his medallion sewn into his lips. Jaskier, with one of the beast's fingers rising above him to strike and run him through as he lays upon the sand, immobilized by the same visions that plague Geralt. He’s going to be speared by the beast, killed before Geralt even gets the chance to tell him--

But that last one, it isn’t a vision, and Geralt shakes his head to clear it as he shakily gets to his feet and lunges across the sand to grab Jaskier’s shoulders and hauling him clear of the attack, the monster’s finger digging deep into the dune. The sudden movement startles Jaskier out of his stupor, and his wild blue eyes find Geralt’s as he clutches at the Witcher’s arm and leans heavily on his good leg. 

“Come on, Jask, we gotta go. We gotta move,” Geralt pulls Jaskier along as they start to stumble down the dune again, Jaskier’s injured leg and burned skin slowing him down. “Ciri! Open a portal! We need to get out of here!”

“We’re too close to it!” She shouts up to them, dancing back and forth as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, “It could follow us through!”

“We’ll just have to risk it!” 

She looks uncertain but with one good look at Jaskier, who is rapidly flagging as blood loss and fatigue creep up on him, she nods and rips open a portal in the fabric of reality. The sand beneath it is swept up into the swirling vortex and through it Geralt can spy green trees and gray sky. 

Ciri runs through it first to hold it open from the other side and Geralt chases after her, his hand gripping Jaskier’s as his stomach flips and somersaults, threatening to make him lose his lunch. He takes a deep, gasping breath on the other side, the thick scents of pine and oak invading his nostrils, and he thinks that maybe they’re safe, maybe they’ve escaped, when Jaskier’s hand is ripped away.

“No!” Ciri screams and she tries to shut the portal before Jaskier can be dragged through, the beast’s fingers wrapped around his midsection and lifting him off of the ground, but the creature is too fast. Its shrieking roar echoes through the portal and drowns out Jaskier’s own horrified scream, and the portal’s border wavers before shattering with the sound of splintering glass. It collapses with Jaskier halfway through it, with the leaves and dirt engulfed in the magic falling to the ground along with the tinkling of a silver chain. Once it closes, the unstable magic surges outwards with a resounding boom, knocking both Geralt and Ciri flat on their backs.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Ciri moans as she scrabbles to her feet, rushing over to where the portal had been and dropping back to her knees as she skids on the damp leaves. A fine mist drifts down from the clouds overhead, sticking to their clothes in tiny water drops and dusting their hair with moisture. 

Geralt slowly gets to his feet, looking around the clearing they find themselves in as he assesses it for threats, before turning to where Ciri is doubled over in the dirt. Her hands are dug into the damp soil, fingers deep as tears drip down her cheeks and roll off her chin. Her shoulders are shuddering with suppressed sobs and Geralt’s perpetual frown deepens.

“Ciri?"

“I- I- he’s- Jaskier is-” she can’t seem to get the words out, her voice choked and thick with tears.

Geralt glances around again before asking uneasily, “Where is he?”

A sob rips free of her chest and she keens as she bows further into the dirt, pressing her forehead to the leaves. Her next words make his heart plummet to live somewhere deep behind his navel, “He’s gone! He’s gone and it’s all my fucking fault!”

* * *

She was poked and prodded and pestered for three months. It took three months before she was able to escape, and she was only able to do so because that bastard’s experiments backfired.

He had her chained to a table, stuck at his mercy as he bled her dry, feeding her only when the room spun endlessly and she told him she was afraid of going to sleep and not waking up again. Then he’d bring her a single piece of bread and a cup of water or milk, feeding her delicately and always wearing a disgusted sneer. As though it was her fault she had to be hand-fed! It wasn’t like she asked to be pinned to a table as her body and mind were magically violated.

She did learn that Stregobor liked to monologue, though, and it reminded her of Jaskier’s own incessant chatter. But that was where the similarities ended, as Jaskier’s voice was always filled with cheer as he spoke, while Stregobor’s cold cadence made shivers roll down her spine. She desperately wished for Geralt to burst through the door, aching each day as she strained her ears in an attempt to hear anything at all through the cracked stone of the tower, but he never did.

Not that she didn’t think he was looking for her. No, she’s certain that he was, considering the fact that she was supposed to congregate with him and Jaskier in Oxenfurt for a bardic competition. While, yes, she knew she didn’t have to attend the contests that Jaskier entered himself into, she chooses to because otherwise she doesn’t see her Father Surprise and her best friend until the Winter, when they all convened in Kaer Morhen to wait out the snow. It also didn’t hurt that she could tease them both about the deep feelings they held for each other, yet refused to act on. Although, the joke had been getting old, almost as old as Geralt, and she was close to spoiling the game and just telling one of them of the other’s affections.

Stregobor walked into the room, already droning on about something or another, and Ciri had to resist the urge to groan and smash her head back against the table in an attempt to knock herself out. She’d never met anyone as self-absorbed as this sorcerer, and she’d met Valdo Marx. Ciri was debating the merits of holding her breath until she fainted when something Stregobor said caught her attention and she focused on him again.

“...that damned Witcher is going to ruin everything if he gets here before I’ve finished,” the sorcerer was muttering, vials clinking and paper rustling as he adjusted things on his workbench, “and he’s got some little pansy bard with him, too.” Ciri nearly laughed at the descriptor, sure Jaskier  _ looked _ weak, but she knew it was all part of the bardic act. It was the careful work of his tailor slimming his shoulders, and hiding the muscle that the bard had built over his decades of travel and rough housing with Witchers, that allowed Jaskier to slip under so many radars, even with half a dozen daggers hidden amongst his frilly clothing.

“Geralt’s coming,” She murmured before grinning and turning her gaze back to the ceiling, raising her voice to speak at Stregobor, since the sorcerer never replied to her anyway, “I told you he would. If I didn’t get out of here first, Geralt would come get me.”

“Hush,” Stregobor snapped, holding three different potions in his hands as he referenced his book of notes, “I need to concentrate, you stupid girl. Or else I might ruin the spell and then we’re both in trouble.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, her grin turning into a confident smirk, “And that would be bad, right?”

He glanced at her askance and opened his mouth as though he really was going to answer her stupidly obvious question. Instead, he glared and knocked back one of the potions, grimacing at presumably the foul taste of it. “You are, without a doubt, the most annoying person I’ve ever worked with.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I’m not the perfect little lab rat for you, I wasn’t planning nor did I desire becoming someone’s experiment,” she pushed her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout that would make Jaskier proud. Stregobor’s expression soured further as he swallowed another potion and she watched him with keen eyes as he stiffened suddenly.

“Uh oh, did someone’s wards get triggered?”

He snarled at her and uncorked the last potion just as the door to the laboratory burst open, Geralt barreling through with a snarl and a bard. Jaskier was brandishing a long dagger, and his eyes went straight to Ciri as Geralt charged forward to try and cut down Stregobor. The sorcerer downed the potion as he opened a portal, and Ciri could feel the way the two magics intermingled and swelled into a miasma of chaos.

“Geralt! Get back!” Ciri shouted and the Witcher glanced at her before changing direction and diving behind her table, grabbing Jaskier by the collar, just as the portal wavered and then shattered with a concussive blast, the room burning white into their retinas and shaking the foundations of the tower. Geralt formed the sign for Quen, creating a shield over the three of them as the tower collapsed around them, the stone crumbling and cascading over itself to the ground.

The entire time, Jaskier was working on unlocking her cuffs, and the dimeritium popped off of her wrists and ankles one by one. She took a deep breath of relief as she felt the full power of her chaos flow back through her, before coughing and retching as dust made its home in her lungs. Jaskier thumped her back firmly to help her clear her aching chest, his shirt pulled up over his nose and mouth to avoid the same fate, when Ciri notices that Geralt has stiffened.

“Geralt?” She looked up at him and his eyes were not on her or Jaskier. He was staring in shock at something above them and she turned to see what it was just as an ear splitting roar shakes the ruins of the tower. “Oh, fuck.”

Looming over them, at least 50 feet in the air, was a horrific beast the likes of which they’ve never seen. With a long body and spindly legs, four of which ended in three thin, pointed fingers, and a gaping maw filled with three rows of sharp teeth that dripped black saliva onto the ground, the creature was a monstrosity that none of them recognized. It roared again and Ciri felt the magic around it, the bastardization of chaos that rotted in its mottled gray flesh, and in the decaying magic she felt lingering traces of the sorcerer.

“What the  _ fuck _ is that thing?” Jaskier gasped, instinctively pulling Ciri with him as he stepped behind Geralt. 

“Stregobor.”

Ciri looked at Geralt sharply, wondering how he knew. That could wait, though, as the creature screams again and they all covered their ears to protect them from the deafening sound. “We have to get out of here,” Ciri said, pulling open a portal to the shores just south of Oxenfurt. It was the first place she could think of.

The moment the portal was open, however, the beast charged with a battle cry; pure white eyes focussed solely on them and the swirling vortex Ciri just created. “Go!” Geralt shoved them both through, following close behind, and Ciri shut the portal again as soon as his feet were firmly in the sand. They got little more than a second to breathe when the world  _ shattered. _ An enormous portal opening up and tainting the sky a sickly orange color as the thick marine layer charged with wild chaos. There’s a moment of pure stillness, even the crashing waves of the ocean sounded muffled and the cawing of gulls disappeared as the world held its breath.

Then, one long, spindly leg stepped through the portal and onto the beach.

* * *

“Gone?” He approaches carefully and kneels down beside Ciri, his hand hovering briefly over her back before he runs his fingers down her spine firmly, “Gone where?”

“I don’t know!” She turns her head to look at him, her green eyes glistening and tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her face. She laughs slightly, the sound tinged with hysteria, “I don’t know! I’ve never had someone get caught in one of my portals before, Geralt!”

“Okay, okay,” His voice is even and calm, warring against the building panic in his own chest. Jaskier’s gone? Gone where? He can’t just be  _ dead _ , but who’s ever survived a portal collapsing on them? He’s heard the stories, Yennefer’s had her fair share of them, people being teleported randomly and dying upon arrival as their body is crushed by magic.

Ciri wails and turns to him, burying her face in his chest and his arms instinctively wrap around her. It’s been a while since he’s held her like this, she hasn’t sought the comfort of his touch in a few years. “I fucking killed him! He’s fucking dead, Geralt, what have I  _ done _ ?”

“Hey,” he rubs her back to try and ease her hysteria, pressing his nose to the crown of her head and inhaling deeply. Her shame and despair fill his senses but he ignores it as thoroughly as he ignores his own fear, “Hey, listen to me. He might not be dead, okay? Jaskier’s harder to kill than a fucking rock troll, you know that. We just gotta… just gotta look for him, yeah?”

Ciri takes a shuddering breath, hiccuping and coughing a little as she chokes on her misery. But then she nods, just a little, and takes another shaking breath as she wipes her dirt stained fingers over her face to brush away her tears, “Y-yeah. Yeah, yes, we gotta… we gotta look for him.” 

He nods reassuringly and helps her to her feet, steadying her until she’s able to walk on her own. She makes a beeline for the pile of detritus lying where her portal had been, starting to sort through it, “We-we need something that belongs to him. I can’t open another portal just yet, I-I… I’m not sure where we are right now either, I just opened one to the nearest universe to us.”

“What will having something of his help?” Geralt asks, not unkindly, as he helps her search through the dirt and leaves, raking his fingers through the filth.

She swallows hard and takes another deep breath, letting it out slowly, “I can scry him that way. Find out if he’s alive or not. And then, I can tie my magic to it and we can use it as a way to portal closer to him.”

“And if we’re separated?” Geralt asks quietly and she glances up at him.

“You’ll carry the beacon, then. I can portal autonomously, you can’t.”

He nods in understanding as he feels something cool and thin slither over his fingers. In surprise, Geralt yanks his hand away from the dirt and looks to see what sort of critter dared touch him, and instead spies something silver amongst the soil. Carefully, he extracts it to see Jaskier’s swallowtail pendant. The thin chain is broken and the sapphire of its wings is cracked but otherwise the heirloom is in perfect condition still.

“Will this work?” 

Ciri looks at it and sighs in relief, “Oh, thank god. I was worried we wouldn’t have  _ anything  _ and then we’d have a much harder time finding him.” She reaches out and takes the pendant in her hands reverently, running her thumb gently over the face of the bird to brush some of the dirt off of it. She then brings it to her lips and whispers to it in Elder, the magic curling from her lips and passing through the pendant as it twists into a smokey circle.

Once the tendril connects with itself, the center fills with a haze that sharpens and reveals Jaskier’s face. His skin is beaten and bruised and burned but his lips are parted and they can see how his breath stirs the grass beneath his cheek. They can’t see anything more than that but it’s a relief, a breath of fresh air, and the weight on their shoulders eases.

“He’s alive,” Ciri whispers in a rush of air, her eyes closing and tension melting from her body, “Thank the gods, he’s alive.”

“Where is he though?” Geralt asks with a frown, studying the bit of scenery they can see through the scry. It isn’t much, mostly drying grasses and a mountain range in the background. He squints at it with a deeper frown, it looks so familiar… “Those are the Blue Mountains behind him. He’s in Kaedwen.”

“In what universe though, Geralt?” Ciri sighs and breaks off the spell, the smoke dissipating into the air, “I have to make a beacon to find him, but I need to rest first. I’ve used a lot of magic lately.” She holds the pendant out to him and he raises his eyebrows before taking it back and gently tucking it into his pocket. “Let’s see if we can’t find a town or at least someplace to camp for the night. I’m starving and I want to try and enchant a xenovox or two, maybe get in contact with Yenna. She might be able to find out some basic information about the universes we end up in so we’re not stumbling around  _ completely _ blind.”

“Just mostly blind,” he nods and takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as they start to walk. They can do this, it won’t be so hard. They just need to portal through who knows how many universes to find Jaskier again. Easy peasy, this’ll be a piece of cake. They’ll find Jaskier, make sure he isn’t dead, and portal back home again before you can say “Roach is the best girl”. No problem.

Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to subscribe to the series [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545) for the rest of this story!
> 
> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


End file.
